


The Kaiju Have Nothing On You, Valentine

by unnecessary



Series: Roses are red, and if that's kaiju blue so help me Newton [1]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Newt and Hermann are dorks, Pre-Movie, Pre-Relationship, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 09:27:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unnecessary/pseuds/unnecessary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Hermann receives an e-card from Newton on Valentine’s Day. It is supposed to be a generous gesture. It is not interpreted as such.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kaiju Have Nothing On You, Valentine

Getting an email from Newton was usually not a good sign. 

It had not been a good sign eight years ago, when Hermann had received his first ever email from one NewtyG (Newton’s “professional” email), a very short message which had nonetheless managed to end with a digression on the importance of biology as a discipline and an image which Hermann later learned was a [Lolcat making a joke about cell division](https://31.media.tumblr.com/781718d95fb7d94315a4d00a85b8d544/tumblr_n0y2n03Aes1qac97yo4_250.jpg) and not, in fact, an early manifestation of Newton’s latent insanity (though was there a difference, really?). It had not been a good sign two weeks after Knifehead attacked Anchorage, either, when Newton had thought it would be amusing to send the entire K-Science department [a video](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8kFNNMeq75U) which had combined footage from a kaiju attack with a meme that hadn’t been popular for over a decade, successfully offending everyone except Hermann, who had rolled his eyes and carried on with his research. 

Understandably, when Hermann’s computer pinged to let him know he had an unread email from his colleague, he did not immediately open it. 

Hermann squinted at the subject line, trying to imagine what fresh horror Newton could have hidden behind the word “YO.” Behind him, he could hear Newton’s chair making little squeaking noises as he jiggled his leg, which meant Newton was trying to be quiet. It also meant that Newton was impatient that Hermann read his email, but not impatient enough to say anything about it, which meant it was probably not work-related. 

Hermann sniffed and returned to adjusting his model of the kaiju attacks without opening the message. Newton could wait over on his side of the lab where he was doing . . . whatever he was doing. 

The squeaking stopped. Newton cleared his throat. Hermann ignored him and waited for the inevitable, _“Jeez, man, check your email sometime this century.”_

The squeaking resumed. A minute passed. The squeaking stopped. There was the sound of Newton standing up and taking a few steps. Hermann heard a distinct _plop_ as Newton dropped what was presumably a kaiju sample on what he sincerely hoped was a sterile dissection tray and not the newly cleaned surface of the lab table. 

Hermann’s stomach twisted uneasily. A quiet Newton for an entire minute was a blessing; a quiet Newton for a full five minutes was a statistical improbability. If this had been the first time Newton had become unusually pleasant to be around, Hermann wouldn’t have cared, but Newton had been acting strange all day. Newton had come into the lab later than usual, and the way he had entered the room had been a great deal more like “slinking” than “striding.” When Hermann had said, “Hello, Newton,” like a civilized person, Newton had frozen and stared at him as though Hermann had just caught him doing something highly illegal. 

“Hi, Hermann,” he had chirped in response, and then he had disappeared behind a pile of kaiju innards and busied himself with cutting them into pieces. He had not said a single word to Hermann since. 

There was another _plop,_ this one more forceful than the last _._ Pretty soon Newton would start tossing the samples around instead of poking at them, and then Hermann would have to yell at him, and Newton would yell back, and Hermann was too tired to deal with that right now. With a roll of his eyes, Hermann switched back to his email and opened the message. 

It was . . . [more innocent than he had expected](http://unnecessaryligatures.tumblr.com/post/76645390269%20). It was a pink rectangle with a small drawing of the Earth in the middle. The planet was accompanied by a line of dark pink hearts. _You are out of this world!_ it said at the top, which made Hermann smile just a little bit because it was so utterly trite and so very Newton. 

_Metaphorically, of course. You’re not good enough at math to be an astronaut_

Hermann’s smile dropped from his face. 

After K-Day, there had not been enough resources to maintain two astronomically expensive scientific endeavors when one of them was dedicated to saving lives and the other was not. Every country with an active space program had shut it down after the Jaeger program was created, and the International Space Station was abandoned as soon as possible. All buzz about the privatization of the space industry had disappeared overnight. Hermann, who had held hopes of one day entering the industry, had been forced to set his sights elsewhere. 

From the evidence in front of him, Hermann drew two conclusions: one, that this graphic had been made Before; and two, that Newton had chosen this graphic specifically for Hermann. 

On the one hand, Newton might have meant it as some sort of inside joke — _Haha, remember when we thought exploring space was cool?_ It was the most likely explanation, since there was no way that Newton could know that Hermann had wanted to be an astronaut, or a fighter pilot, or a Jaeger pilot, or that he had had to give up all those dreams because of a reason that had nothing to do with mathematics. 

On the other hand, Newton had obviously meant to antagonize Hermann, and Hermann was not interested in denying him that particular pleasure. 

_“Newton.”_

“Yeah?” said Newton, his voice more high-pitched than usual. 

Hermann spun around in his chair and glared at him. “What is the meaning of this?” 

Newton, who was standing in front of a sample he had clearly been dissecting, pushed his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose with the hand that wasn’t holding a scalpel. “Well, _Hermann_ , humans have developed this system of signifiers and stuff they signify called ‘language’—” 

Hermann got out of his chair and walked towards him, leaning heavily on his cane in his agitation. “Do not pretend to be formalist for the sake of making a point,” he snapped. “I am not interested in your crude jokes or why you thought some vintage”— he waved his hand, looking for a word other than the first one that came to mind — “ _graphic_ would be an appropriate thing to send to your colleague, who, despite your best efforts to get him _fired_ , has managed to put up with this kind of thing for nearly a decade.” Hermann stopped just short of the line dividing the lab and glared at Newton. “I _am_ interested in why you felt the need to take advantage of a holiday that is based on celebrating positive personal connections in order to insult my intelligence, my choice of career, and my _life’s work.”_  

Newton stared at him. 

Too much? Too much. 

“Uhhh, that wasn’t exactly what I meant by it,” Newton said, adjusting his glasses _again_ over eyes that were uncharacteristically wide, “but hey, whatever floats your boat. New Criticism, death of the author and all that.” 

Hermann waved a hand dismissively, trying to hide how uncomfortable he was with the way Newton was looking at him. “You didn’t write that. You clearly found it on the internet.” 

“Yeah, you got me,” Newton said weakly. “But I’m down with you taking control over your own interpretations. Like, if I told you it was meant to be a peace offering because of that one time I asked you if you had ever gotten flowers that weren’t from your mother on Valentine’s Day, and then it turned out that you’ve actually never gotten flowers on Valentines Day, you could totally just. Ignore that.” 

There was a moment of silence as they looked at each other. Interestingly, Hermann had a slightly different memory of that particular incident. It was one of the worst fights they had ever had. This was likely because it had not been about which one of them was working on a more worthwhile project (which they had decided a long time ago would forever remain an open question), but about Hermann’s inability to make meaningful human connections. He was fairly certain that the comment that had started whole thing had not been about flowers, but valentines. 

“Right,” said Hermann. 

Newton, who was normally easy to read, was giving off conflicting signals. His expression was resigned, and the bags under his eyes spoke of the exhaustion they had both been feeling ever since they had taken over the work that had once been shared by an entire team of scientists. Yet his shoulders were tense, and he was picking at his nails through his latex gloves, a bad habit he had acquired after Hermann had pointed out one too many times that if he kept chewing on his gloves, he was either going to choke or poison himself with kaiju blue. 

Hermann drummed his fingers on his cane. “You are aware that I do not celebrate Valentine’s Day,” he said carefully.  

Newton swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing conspicuously in his throat. He set down the scalpel very carefully on the dissection tray, looking at it instead of Hermann. 

“Under normal circumstances,” Hermann added. 

Newton looked at him, his expression a mix between incredulity and hope. “We hardly live under normal circumstances,” Newton said. 

“Indeed,” Hermann said dryly. 

“You know,” Newton said very slowly, “I think I might have this bottle of Merlot I stole from that function Marshall invited us to back in May.” 

“I would not be opposed to helping you finish it off, if you needed some assistance.” 

Newton grinned. “I definitely do. It’s super cheap.” 

“We can celebrate being bachelors together,” Hermann said, watching Newton very carefully. 

There was a brief moment where Newton’s smile might have flickered with disappointment, but then he was grinning again and Hermann was certain he had imagined it. “Yeah!” Newton said, peeling off his gloves one by one. “We haven’t had a holiday for what — two years? We deserve a break.” He balled up the gloves and tossed them in the trashcan. He mouthed a silent victory cry when they went in. 

Hermann snorted. “Try six years.” He turned away and went back to his desk to grab his jacket. There was no way he was letting Newton consume alcohol anywhere near the lab equipment, and he was not interested in consuming alcohol anywhere else in the building; the Shatterdome had become empty to the point where it was depressing. 

Hermann wasn’t disappointed that he had interpreted Newton’s suggestion correctly, of course. If Newton were ever to proposition him ( _Which he wouldn’t,_ pointed out the sensible part of Hermann’s brain), he wouldn’t go about it so obliquely. Hermann was well aware at this point that Newton was incapable of subtlety, and, in fact, relished things like grand romantic gestures. Considering how many times he had insulted Hermann, he would have to go to truly extravagant lengths to get Hermann to even go to dinner with him. There would be flowers. Lots of flowers. 

Hermann wouldn’t even consider it unless he came in one day to find the lab absolutely covered in flowers. 

Obviously. 

“Are you coming or what?” 

“Patience is a virtue,” Hermann informed him as he struggled into his jacket. 

“Unlike some people, _I_ like to do things as quickly as possible.” 

Hermann shot him a look. 

“Uhh, I mean, not _always_ ,” Newton said. Was he _blushing?_ “Only for. Some things.” 

Hermann rolled his eyes and unhooked his cane from the back of his chair. “Let’s leave before you hurt yourself.” 

“More like before someone disproves the Riemann hypothesis.” 

“I think you mean _proves,_ ” Hermann snarled, and when he spun around, Newton was grinning. 

* * *

 

An hour later, slumped against a building somewhere in an alley behind the Shatterdome, Hermann was trying to remember why they didn’t do this more often. 

“You couldn’t even have sent me a _grammatically correct_ valentine?” Hermann asked as he poured himself the last of the truly awful Merlot. 

“Whoa,” Newton said. “E-card. And it was totally grammatically correct.” 

“It was missing a period.” 

“ _No,_ Hermann _._ Herms. Hermmy. You are so close-minded. You just didn’t turn it over.” 

“It was in an email.” 

“Give me that,” Newton said, pulling the second bottle of Merlot, which was Hermann’s and which Hermann had just finished opening, out of Hermann’s grasp. He sloshed only slightly less wine on the ground than he got into his glass. “That sentence totally wrapped around to the back.”

“It didn’t _have_ a back.” 

“I wasn’t _finished._ It said, ‘Hermann’—”

“It didn’t have my name on it.” 

“Will you shut up? It said, ‘Hermann, you’re not good enough at math to be an astronaut, _but_ that actually means you’re really good at math because astronauts don’t exist anymore, _and_ you’re going to use your awesome math skills to save the world from the kaiju threat, _and_ you get to work with the most awesome scientist on the planet while you do it.’” Newton grinned. 

Hermann sniffed and took the bottle back from him. “And here I thought you were going to actually say something appropriate for the holiday,” he said as he poured himself another glass. His brain caught up to his mouth and he froze. 

They very carefully did not look at each other. 

“Not that you _would,_ obviously,” Hermann said, and downed the glass in one go. 

“Noo _oo_ o,” Newton said, modulating the “o” more than was strictly necessary. “No, I wouldn’t. Not if the world was ending.” He took the bottle back from Hermann, who let it go without any resistance. 

“It is ending,” Hermann said quietly after a moment. 

“Yeah,” Newton said, examining the label on the bottle of wine.  

“And when we save the world, as you so eloquently put it?” Hermann asked, feeling far more sober than he would ever admit. 

“Maybe then,” Newton said, swearing to himself to deny ever uttering those two words. He reached over and poured Hermann another glass, making sure to get all of the wine in the glass this time. “Maybe then.”


End file.
